


Most Precious

by knockout_mouse



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Blindness, Canonical Character Death, Gentleness, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Near Death, Short One Shot, Tenderness, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29996961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockout_mouse/pseuds/knockout_mouse
Summary: In the last days, Henry goes blind.
Relationships: John Bridgens/Henry "Harry" Peglar
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17





	Most Precious

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I wrote on [tumblr](https://toomanyassassins.tumblr.com/post/645455476346224640/in-the-last-days-henry-goes-blind-john-has) that I felt like putting here too. Spread the feels around a bit.  
> What can I say? Sometimes you just need to indulge in the catharsis of sorrow.

In the last days, Henry goes blind. John has absolutely no idea why: his medical knowledge is too limited, only just adequate to help with occasional aches and pains. Not this. Not...

Henry is delirious, almost blessedly so. It means he doesn’t notice the change in sight: he drifts in and out of sleep, and when he is awake he believes himself to be cocooned in a warm darkness with John. His smile cracks his lips, but it is as beautiful as the first one John saw. 

“Must we get up?” he asks, frostbitten fingers gently tangling themselves in John’s hand. 

Nobody visits their tent anymore if they can help it: John knows any last pretense or discretion he put into their relationship vanished the moment he clung to a fallen Henry with open sorrow. The men know what type of man he is now. But far worse, they know Henry is one too.

Henry is delusional, and John couldn't be more grateful that his love is not lucid to the way the men look at them now.

But that sweet, naïve bliss is not meant to last. One morning, Henry opens his eyes, and John knows instantly that Henry is _awake_. His lips tremble as he asks, “John... are you there?”

There is no reason to hide anymore. There is nothing left to hide. “Yes, love.” John takes his hand and presses a kiss to it.

Henry settles a little, “Is it winter so soon? .... It's just, I do so hate these polar nights.”

John can tell another lie. He’s told plenty throughout his life, even a few to Henry. _It's the first signs, this. It's early days for you._ His fingers won’t quite shivering. “Aye. It is indeed a shame this place would take the sight of your face away from me for so long.”

Henry’s brow pinches, “Can we not strike up a lamp?”

“No, love. There are no more. No more light, no more candles.”

“Oh.” he sighs, that adorable pout of his settling on his lips. Even with cloudy eyes and peeling skin, he looks beautiful. John is possessed of the sudden urge to see Henry smile.

“Did you ever finish _Anabasis_?”

But Henry doesn’t smile, “Sorry, I did mean to. But then the beast came back, and I lost it in the chaos.” He frowns, slightly confused, “I think I might have lost everything.”

No, no. That will not do, to see Henry so close to seeing the terrible truth. John cups Henry’s face, “That’s alright, I can always just tell you how it ends.”

Finally, a grin breaks out, “You already did. You spoiled the tale for me the minute you passed me the book.”

“Ah, so I did.” John chuckles. It’s the first time he’s laughed in months.

Henry tips his head to the side, “Are we alone?”

Yes. The truth: in so many ways they are alone. Even the captain, who glances at John with familiar pity, will not breach the flaps of their tent.

“Yes.” he says, “Just for now.”

Henry relaxes, “I’ve been keeping something. A journal of sorts. When the light comes back, I want you to read it.”

“You be there yourself to read it to me, love.” John grasps Henry’s pale hands.

A sad smile. “I don’t think what I’ve written deserves being recited out loud. Better to keep things silent, yes?”

No. The truth: John has heard enough silence these past days to consume this whole wasteland. He never wants to hear Henry stop talking again.

It is the last lucid day Henry must suffer through, before he fades back into the living dream, where he and John are in a tiny flat in London, and he doesn’t want to get up yet, just sleep for a little longer. “Why won't you come to bed with me?” he asks, and John doesn’t know the answer.

Finally, the dream ends, on one accursed bright day. Henry leaves in his sleep, fingers still curled around John’s. Only then does John read what Henry has left, from front to back. It’s the only book he’s held in the past month, and yet it is the most precious of all. 

Perhaps, where Henry now waits, they do have that little flat. Perhaps, he is waiting for John to come home. And John has never been good at denying Henry anything. He finds himself more than ready to leave this cursed land behind.

With a final kiss pressed to his love’s brittle fingers, he tucks the journal into his belt, and begins the walk home.

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate any and all comments. *begins passing out tissues*


End file.
